Sometimes this is how my head feels, like there is too much in there.
Andrea's Art Box
poetry, drawing, collage
The blank page awaits.
It’s like standing on the edge of an abyss.
(Source: adayinthelandofnobody, via lindenavenue)
3 notes &
I’ve known and been working with C!nder for years now, and while I’ve always loved his work, he’s really been kicking everything up a notch lately. This piece - “Tomorrow Forever” - will be showing at Vox Sacramento for our February show. Vox is located at 1818 11th Street, Sacramento, CA. The show opens on February 11th, 4-9 p.m.
John Green: GAY is NOT an INSULT (x)
EPIC SET. Thanks for doing this…whoever did it.
(via wilwheaton)
By seaChange41
I don’t believe in waiting for inspiration when it’s all around you, everyday. (I still like this image, though.)
(Source: wasbella102)
12 notes &
New collection of altered cabinet cards by Alex Gross…more
28 notes &
I try to conjure, to raise my own spirits, from wherever they are. I need to remember what they look like. I try to hold them still behind my eyes, their faces, like pictures in an album. But they won’t stay still for me, they move, there’s a smile and it’s gone, their features curl and bend as if the paper’s burning, blackness eats them. A glimpse, a pale shimmer on the air; a glow, aurora, dance of electrons, then a face again, faces. But they fade, though I stretch out my arms towards them, they slip away from me, ghosts at daybreak. Back to wherever they are. Stay with me, I want to say. But they won’t. It’s my fault. I am forgetting too much.
(via mermaidcomplex)
Latest Doodle: ‘Falcon Girl’ (Tank Girl / Star Wars)
Prints available at http://www.jameshance.com/ (US / Canada)
and http://www.jameshance.co.uk/ (UK / Europe)
Tees available at http://www.redbubble.com/people/strangelydrawn/works/8381405-falcon-girl-tank-girl-star-wars
Thanks for the kind words, as always :D
Love this!
I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
(via lorenzmazondumuk)
1 note &
Hook
Everything has rhythm. The slap of the too blue sea against the hull. The clink of the rigging, the straining groan of the lines. The rumpling of the sails, straining to catch the wind. The gruff huffing of his men being men. All keeping time with the tick tock of the alligator’s tail, flicking at the water below.
On days like this, when the sun is warm on his shoulder and the sea sparkles, Hook grasps the cold metal of his right hand and feels heavy, as though all of history were bearing down upon him and he cannot escape its great rolling weight. I could jump, he thinks, staring at the water below, a flash of green scales circling, the beast’s inner clock counting days.
Time is too much, too much, and even adventure becomes tedious in its relentless and reckless thrill. I could jump and never hit the water, he thinks. I could just jump, and maybe for once, fly.
